Circle of Trust Rewritten
by Rainyrose
Summary: REVISED! Harry is having a truly horrible day. But it all gets worse when he discovers danger in the neighborhood in the form of death eaters. Too bad he's been locked out of his house...Will Harry get to safety, or will Voldemort win? AU third yr.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters that appear in this story. I am just playing with the plot. This story is simply for the enjoyment of other ambitious readers and writers like me.

**A/N:** As you can probably see, this is the new and improved version of my story, Circle of Trust! I am extremely pleased with how the edited version has come out, and I believe that it is a vast improvement over what I had previously posted. You'll also be happy to hear that it's quite a bit longer than the other vision as well.

On a side note, the first two chapters are mostly the same. However, as we get into chapter three we witness some pretty important plot changes, so I suggest you start at the beginning and work our way through, otherwise you might get lost. With that said, enjoy the story! And please remember to review!!

-Rainyrose :)

Chapter 1

It was the peak of the summer holiday, and the smallest bedroom of the Dursley household was stifling hot; its only window was stuck half- open, preventing any sort of breeze from entering which may have helped to cool it down. There was a desk beside the window that was littered with countless half-empty bottles of black ink, pointy feathered quills, and a few stray rolls of parchment. However, the remainder of the room seemed unnaturally empty for a bedroom regularly inhabited by a teenage boy. The walls were bare of posters and were instead plastered a stark white, giving the room a desolate, lonely feel. The bed was old and creaky from rusted springs, and was made up with several thin, moth-eaten blankets. The only noises distinguishable came from the whispering breeze outside, and a soft scratching on the corner of the shabby desk.

There was currently only one living creature inside the drab bedroom, and it wasn't a thirteen year old boy. A magnificent snowy owl blinked her eyes blearily form the confines of her metal cage, waiting impatiently for her master to return. She glanced at her empty water bowl in yearning. Her master hadn't been back to the room to feed her since he'd left at dawn, and she had grown quite hungry. Hedwig shook her white feathers restlessly, and returned to picking and scratching at the lock with her talons; she had never been so eager to escape into the summer skies and stretch her wings. It must have been at least seven days since she'd last felt the open air ruffling her feathers in flight.... She distracted herself with the lock for a while, and was hoping that perhaps this time she might be able to free herself, when a loud CRASH sounded from downstairs. She emitted a loud hoot of alarm.

"BOY!" a loud voice boomed, echoing up through the floor. The white owl closed her eyes in exasperation.

Downstairs in the kitchen, a skinny bespectacled boy with chaotically messy black hair scurried around in a panic, hunched over, trying to scoop up the broken fragments of his aunt's vase before his uncle could see what had happened. The usually spotless kitchen was now littered with glittering white pieces of porcelain. Harry was just cautiously reaching for a particularly jagged piece, so as not to slice his finger on it, when the enormous bulk of his uncle appeared in the doorway.

"What the devil is going on in here?" Vernon seethed, his teeth bared. When his beady eyes noticed the sharp fragments scattered across the linoleum floor, his face swelled, and began to turn a nasty shade of purple.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, and hastened to inconspicuously deposit the sharp piece in the waste bin.

"_Nothing?_ So that's the story now, is it boy?" A vessel was throbbing in Vernon's neck. Harry didn't take this as a good sign, and a familiar sense of foreboding began to seep up through the pit of his stomach.

"It was an accident. I- I tripped." Harry began to sweat as his Uncle Vernon realized that he was being lied to. His eyes turned black with fury, and with a deep growl, he had marched up to his nephew and seized him by the shirt collar. Thrusting his purpling face so close to Harry's that he could count every pore on the young boy's nose, Vernon bared his teeth with a snarl and began to speak.

"After you clean up this mess, you will weed the flowerbeds, mow the lawn, and mop the kitchen," he hissed, his putrid breath stinging Harry's face. "If you are not finished by dark, you will severely regret it. And if I hear any sound from you, boy, _anything at all_, you will wish you had never been born." He backhanded Harry across the face with as much force as he could muster and Harry staggered, his hip slamming painfully into the antique kitchen table. With that Vernon stormed away, most likely into to the living room to watch yet another pointless television show.

Harry slowly brought a shaking hand up to his burning cheek to feel if it was swelling. The skin was stinging badly, but not nearly as badly as the lightening bolt scar on his forehead. It was this scar which had been the reason Harry had stumbled into the vase in the first place. As he pressed his hand against it his eyes screwed up in pain, and he could feel an even larger panic spreading throughout his entire body, numbing everything else. The only times that his scar hurt had been when Lord Voldemort was near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school Harry attended. Therefore, Harry reasoned, that had to mean that Voldemort was currently lurking somewhere close by to number four, Privet Drive. Why else would it be hurting like this?

But Harry was tempted to dismiss this thought as quickly as it had come. How could Voldemort possibly be anywhere near Privet Drive? He was nothing more than mere vapor and was without a body.... Unless, Harry pondered, his thoughts straying to his previous Professor Quirrel, Voldemort had found another devoted follower who was willing to loan out the back of his head....

Harry was about to enter his third year at Hogwarts, a school dedicated to educating its students all about the hidden magical world. He had been in the face of danger several times throughout the past two school years, but Harry wasn't sure if he could hold off Voldemort yet again. In their past two encounters, Harry had escaped Voldemort's clutches purely on luck, or so he thought. And he was bound to run out of luck eventually.

His instincts were telling him to alert Albus Dumbledore about his scar. But would Dumbledore believe him? Harry had already sent a letter off to his headmaster, requesting that he spend the remainder of the summer with the Weasleys. However, Harry's letter had been ignored, as he hadn't gotten any sort of response back. Perhaps the wise old wizard was finally getting impatient with him and his immature problems? His stomach churned guiltily at the prospect of bothering Dumbledore. Because of his stupid, careless nagging in that letter, Harry might have lost a lot of respect in Dumbledore's eyes (or so he thought). He was ashamed to admit it, but he was slightly afraid of confessing to Dumbledore and asking for more help.

Maybe he should just wait the summer through- he had a high tolerance for pain. It wasn't as though he couldn't take care of himself, after all. He wasn't an invalid.

Harry finished cleaning up the now worthless vase, and then quietly bounded up the stairs to grab his wand. If there was any danger around, he at least wanted to be prepared to fight. _Screw the Ministry and their restrictions, _he thought savagely. As he entered his room, Hedwig gave a soft hoot of hunger. He grimaced.

"I know, girl," he murmured, hovering in the doorway and eyeing the large padlock on his owl's cage. Hedwig's large amber eyes rested on his helpless face. She mournfully hooted again.

Harry shook his head sadly, and walked to his bedside table and grabbed the holly and phoenix feather wand. He hated not being able to care for Hedwig properly. The last two times he had been caught picking the lock on the cage, Vernon's wrath had been frightening, and Harry knew that he couldn't risk getting caught a third time.

"He's watching me too closely right now," Harry whispered to his owl. "Hang in there until I'm done. I promise I'll be quick."

Harry turned and stealthily crept back down the stairs. After a quick glance to see if Vernon was still in the living room (he heard the low rumble of voices on the TV, which confirmed his suspicions), Harry tiptoed to the front door and eased it open. Then he was out in the bright sunlight, potentially safe from any harm for the next few hours. With a deep sigh of relief, he went into the garage, grabbed the weeding tools, and got to work on the flowerbeds.

The late afternoon sun beat down on his exposed neck as he labored. His sore arms dripped with sweat, and he wearily wiped his brow on his sleeve. The dirt in the flowerbeds was almost rock hard; it had been baking in the heat for days now, so the surface was caked and crumbling. His fingertips were sore from the gunk under his nails, and the skin raw from scratching repeatedly against the hard surface.

Harry yawned. His eyes itched from fatigue. It had been a while since he'd gotten a good night's sleep; Uncle Vernon had Harry rising at the crack of dawn to wash his car and cook breakfast before he went to work, and Harry didn't get to bed much earlier than midnight each night. But no matter how tired he was, he couldn't seem to get rid of the feeling that he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, occasionally followed by a twinge from his scar. Every time he sat up and looked around, however, his eyes were greeted by a deserted landscape and a few scattered rain clouds that had been blown in by the wind. Shaking it off, he forced his mind back to the task at hand, convinced that he was just being paranoid after what had happened earlier in the kitchen.

On and on he worked, for what seemed like several hours. _At least there's a bit of a breeze_, he thought wearily. Without thinking, he wiped his brow with his dirty sleeve, and groaned. _Brilliant. I probably have a nice dirt stain across my forehead now. Let's hope I don't meet any neighbors and embarrass myself. On a second thought, maybe it'll hide my scar…._

A bee was buzzing around one of the rose bushes. The sound was hypnotic. Harry found himself sitting back and surveying his semi-completed chore with a frown on his face.

_There aren't even that many weeds in here,_ he thought grumpily. _Why couldn't Dumbledore just let me go straight to the W-_

"Harry?" A timid voice tore Harry away from his depressing thoughts, and he whipped his head around in search of the source. His wand was out of his pocket before he could even stand up.

The man leaning against the front gate looked youthful, with light brown hair and cheery amber eyes. But when Harry got a closer look, he noticed that the man's hair was flecked with gray, and his face was lined with premature wrinkles. _Do I know you?_ Harry thought desperately, racking his brains for situations where he might have come across this man before. He could think of none. The man looked innocent enough, though, so Harry cautiously rose to his feet.

"Er- can I help you with something?" Harry carefully stuffed his wand back into his jeans pocket as he approached the man. All the same, he readied his reflexes in case the man tried to pull a wand on him.

"Yes, actually... I'm a friend of one of your neighbors. Erm, she sent me here and was wondering, er, whether you would be willing to do some work around the house for her. She lives down on Wisteria Walk, at number six."

Harry knew perfectly well who lived at number six. It was Mrs. Figg, the batty old lady who was obsessed with cats and lived in a house that reeked of cabbage. Harry almost scoffed at the man's suggestion, but caught himself. He was being asked to do even more work? Couldn't this man see that he already had enough on his plate?

"Sorry, but I've got loads to do around here. I don't think I can spare any more time." Was it just him, or did this man look highly disappointed? But before he could take a closer look, the man's expression changed. He was now regarding Harry with newfound interest.

"Alright. I'll just deliver on the message, then," he said pleasantly. There was a brief, awkward silence, and the man still didn't leave.

_What's he waiting for? I can't stand around all day. Uncle Vernon will kill me,_ Harry thought, deeply annoyed.

"Why are you working outside on such a hot day like today?" the man questioned again.

"Er…," Harry didn't know what to say. 'I broke my aunt's favorite vase because the stupid scar on my forehead started burning like hell, which means that Lord Voldemort might currently be on this street, and I got punished for it' didn't seem like the right thing to say, for some reason.

"Chores," Harry mumbled. The stranger's eyes roved over him.

"What happened to your face?" He was peering closely at the ominous bruise on Harry's cheek, which had by now swelled up to be the size of a golf ball.

"Nothing," Harry answered, perhaps a little too quickly. When the man raised an eyebrow, Harry hastily made up a story. "I tripped over a chair in the kitchen, and hit my face on the stove."

The man simply stared at the bruise some more. Harry decided that it was time to end this conversation and swim away from these dangerous waters.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, er, Mr-?"

"Remus Lupin," the young man stated, holding out his hand. Harry regarded it for a second before shaking it. It was also lined with wrinkles, and Harry felt some rough calluses rub against his palm and fingers. He noticed Lupin glance at the scar on his forehead (apparently it hadn't been hidden beneath the dirt streak), and Harry quickly withdrew from the handshake.

"Well, I'd better get back to work now. It's almost dark, and I'm not even halfway finished." Harry faked a smile, turned, and walked back to the flowerbeds. When he glanced back over his shoulder, Lupin was gone.

____________________________________________________________

The rain started around six o' clock that night. It wasn't the light kind of rain that makes a soothing sound on your roof at night, and lulls you to sleep. It was a hard pounding, like a thousand little fists, threatening to break into your bedroom and wash you from your bed.

Harry had dismissed the idea of picking the lock on Hedwig's cage and sending her out to Dumbledore. Not only did he want to avoid his uncle's ire, but he didn't want his beloved owl to get lost in the freak storm raging around the house, and she hadn't had anything to eat until a few minutes ago. As if she could read his thoughts, his poor owl hooted at him in restlessness from being cooped up for so long. As he grabbed her empty water tray and pulled it through the bars, she gently nipped his finger.

"I know, I'm sorry," Harry told her quietly. "You can't go out tonight. I don't want you to get lost." Her large amber eyes blinked up at him for a moment, before she tucked her head beneath her wing and went back to sleep.

Harry opened the door of his bedroom and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom to refill Hedwig's water, making an effort to remain as quiet as humanely possible. He let the water run for a few moments before placing it under the faucet. As he glanced around at the photos of Dudley in distaste, his thoughts strayed to the man he had met earlier. Lupin…. He had an odd feeling he had met the man somewhere before….

"BOY!" A dangerous shout came up the stairs. Harry froze. _Oh no. What did I do now?_

He quickly turned off the sink and leapt across the hall to his bedroom, spilling water on the carpet in the process. He deposited the tray on his desk just as his uncle lumbered to the top of the stairwell.

"What did I tell you to do earlier?" He hissed in a dangerous voice, his enormous bulk blocking the entire doorway to Harry's room. The vein was throbbing in his neck again, and his moustache quivered ominously.

Harry was bewildered. What had he forgotten to do? He tried to ignore his racing heart as he replied with an unsteady voice. "You, er. You told me to-"

"MOW THE LAWN!" His uncle roared. He strode over to Harry, kicked a few books out of the way, and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt so he could bodily haul his nephew down the stairs. They passed his aunt and cousin who were sitting in the living room, pointedly staring at the television despite all the commotion behind them. Harry was soon slammed face first into the kitchen window.

"Look out the window. What do you see?" Harry blinked the stars away from his blackening vision and focused on the yard, trying hard to ignore the increasing difficulty to breathe.

"Er." What did he see? What were those gleaming eyes doing on the opposite side of Privet Drive? Harry peered closer. "I see a dog."

"A dog? NO, you freak! You see the unmown grass! WHY DIDN'T YOU FINISH YOUR CHORES?" Vernon shook Harry's collar, increasing the pressure on his windpipe.

"I mowed it two days ago!" Harry choked out angrily. That, and the fact that it had started raining and Harry really didn't want to get sick on top of everything else. He had been hoping that his uncle wouldn't notice. Obviously, his hopes had been futile.

Vernon shoved Harry around to face him, his nose an inch from his nephew's. "Well guess what, you little freak? I'm not paying for your food and shelter if you don't work it off. " He aimed a punch at Harry's cheek but missed, instead splitting open Harry's lip. Blood spurted out and dripped down the front of his shirt. "I want you out of this house, NOW!"

And with that, Vernon pushed him down the hallway, threw open the front door, and shoved a staggering Harry out off the porch steps. The last thing Harry heard from within were the shocked exclamations of his Aunt Petunia, before the door was slammed shut and Harry was left alone in the hard, cold downpour.

It took a moment for his shocked mind to register what had just happened.

"Damn."

Now what was he going to do? All of his belongings and Hedwig were stuck in his room upstairs, along with his wand. Harry tried to remember whether or not he had closed his bedroom window. He could always climb the tree near his room, jump inside, and grab his stuff-

As he had been thinking, Harry had walked over to the tree and looked up at the dark, wet house. The window wasn't open. Brilliant.

Harry slipped under the canopy of leaves for shelter as he evaluated his situation. He was stuck in the pouring rain, he was sopping wet, and locked out of the house that held his most precious belongings. He had an alarmingly swollen cheek and a split lip, his scar was burning fiercely, and-

Wait. His scar was….

Bloody hell.

A/N: Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Chapter two will be posted in a few days. :)

p.s. Should I come up with a new title/ summary for this story?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters that appear in this story. I am just playing with the plot. This story is simply for the enjoyment of other ambitious readers and writers like me.

**A/N:** Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter... I was in the mountains for a week and a half on vacation and normally I get internet up there... I dunno what happened, haha. Oh well, here it is now! Enjoy, and please remember to drop me a review!

Chapter 2

Harry shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. He could feel someone watching him again.

He abandoned the tree and ducked sideways into the shadows of the bushes, and peered around. He couldn't see anyone, not even the large dog that had been across the street a few moments ago. Harry hoped it had gotten out of the rain, and he also hoped that it wasn't hungry.

He racked his brains for a place that was safe enough for him to crash at for the rest of the summer. His mind sifted through several different faces: Dumbledore, Hagrid, Hermione, the Weasleys, and Tom from the Leaky Cauldron. Harry's heart leapt at the possibility of going to the Burrow, but then he stopped himself; there was no way he could possibly travel to the Weasley's, as they were still in Egypt. And besides, he had no form of transportation- his broom was locked inside the Dursley's house as well, and now that he thought about it, he didn't even know _where _the Burrow was.

He didn't have his wand either, which he had placed on his bedside table before going to fill up Hedwig's water. _Stupid git_, he reprimanded himself. _You should know better than to leave your only weapon lying around!_

Pulling himself back to the situation at hand, he tried to think of alternative places to go that were close by. If he went to Mrs. Figg's, maybe he could use her telephone to call the Granger's house. Hermione's parents were muggles, so they would be listed in the phone book, right?

With that thought clearly in his mind, Harry sprinted out from the shadows and down the Dursley's driveway towards the street. To his immense relief, no curses were shouted at him. In fact, nothing happened at all.

Breathing rather loudly and feeling rather stupid, Harry power-walked down Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent before turning onto Wisteria Walk. He tried to concentrate on slowing down his heartbeat and composing himself, so that Mrs. Figg wouldn't freak out when she discovered him bloodied, soaking wet, and homeless. He squinted his eyes to try and see through the raindrops spattered against his glasses. He hoped that she would serve him some hot tea when he arrived, because his nose was beginning to run and he supposed he was on the verge of catching that cold he'd been trying to avoid.

He was one house away from her white picket fence when he heard a noise coming from the bushes to his left… a soft whimpering noise, like a wounded animal. Harry strained his eyes to see through the sheets of rain. His glasses were still streaked with smeared water droplets. Wiping them impatiently on the hem of his shirt, he replaced them and peered around. Thanks to his sharp seeker-vision developed from countless hours of Quidditch practice, Harry was able to spot the same sparkling eyes he had seen from the Dursley's kitchen window. Inching a little closer, Harry could make out the form of an enormous, shaggy black dog that was standing in the bushes behind him, ten feet away, whimpering and whining. Its tail wagged when Harry looked at it, welcoming him.

Harry knew that he should get inside, but there was something about the dog that made him hesitate, and step a little closer. To most people, the mere look of the animal would have sent them running as fast as they could in the opposite direction. It was half the size of a bear, black and ominous, with monstrous paws and gleaming yellow teeth. But Harry was curious, so he held out his hand to pet it on top of its head. Its fur was matted, but extremely soft. As his fingers scratched behind its ears, it whimpered pitifully.

Harry knelt down, and the friendly dog lifted its nose to lick Harry's swollen cheek. It whined again. Harry's heart melted.

"What are you doing out here in the rain, boy?" he crooned gently, still scratching the mutt's scraggly ears. The dog gazed up at him with the saddest grey puppy dog eyes Harry had ever seen.

"It's alright," Harry murmured consolingly, and stood up. "C'mon, boy. Let's get you someplace warmer." He motioned with his hand for the dog to follow. To Harry's immense surprise, the animal leapt up with newfound energy and trotted proudly to his side, its pink tongue lolling.

They were walking past Mrs. Figg's white picket fence when it happened. At one moment, the dog was looking up at Harry's face happily and was bouncing along at his side. Then it looked up at the house instead and spotted Remus Lupin standing at one of Mrs. Figg's windows, gazing out at the street. The dog froze.

Mrs. Figg's front door opened with a loud crash, and Lupin came sprinting down the walkway as fast as his legs could carry him. He banished a wand in front of him as if it were a sword he was about to impale Harry with.

"HARRY, NO!"

Harry must have jumped three feet in the air at the shout. The black dog was clearly startled too, and forgot to disappear back into the bushes. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but-

"Run Harry! It's Sirius Black! RUN!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He turned and ran, as fast as he could, down Wisteria Walk in the opposite direction. He had no idea who or what Sirius Black was, but he didn't want to wait around and find out.

The loud pounding on the pavement behind him told Harry that the dog was steadily gaining on him. Suddenly, he was terrified of the beast. He zigzagged through an alleyway, and took shortcuts down random streets that he had learned from being chased by Dudley's gang in his childhood. The rain lashed at his skin and his glasses, causing them to fog up slightly, making it difficult to see where he was going. He spotted a garbage bin up ahead, and flung it behind him into the dog's path, but it didn't slow the animal down. The dog was level with his heals, then with his swinging hands; Harry could feel its hot breath tickling his fingers as he ran, like it was teasing him, about to bite his arm off at any second.

Abruptly, Harry slowed his pace to almost a complete halt, and the dog flashed past, skidding on the wet pavement. It slammed into a parked car with a howl. Harry dashed around another street corner, and looked behind him. He couldn't see the dog anymore. Gasping in relief, Harry turned back around, only to charge directly into the solid form of a human being with enough force to send them both sprawling.

Harry's head swam dizzily; the wind had been knocked out of him. The palms of his hands were stinging badly; a downward glance showed him that they were bleeding, as were his knees. The man he had hit was unsteadily rising to his feet. Harry looked up to apologize, briefly wondering why the hell anyone would be standing in the middle of a deserted street at this time of night, in the pouring rain no less, only to find a wand pointed directly at his forehead.

"Don't move, or you'll deeply regret it," whispered Lucius Malfoy, shaking his platinum blond hair out of his eyes and straightening his black robes. A white mask in the shape of a skull was lying on the ground next to his feet.

There was a slapping of running footsteps on wet pavement behind him, but Harry couldn't turn to see who it was. Quick as a flash, Lucius Malfoy grabbed Harry's shirt and pulled him closer, pressing the wand underneath his chin. Harry choked out his shock.

"I wouldn't come any closer if I were you, Lupin," the cold voice smirked. The sound of it sent shivers down Harry's back. He gulped as Malfoy's cold hand closed on his arm. "Leave now, and Potter will remain unharmed."

Harry whimpered from the growing pain in his scar. What did this mean? Malfoy was obviously a follower of Voldemort. Could the Dark Lord's servents have possibly returned to him, like Hagrid had predicted in his first year? Was Malfoy intending to take him to… wherever Voldemort was? He pulled his eyes away from Lucius to look at Lupin, who was clearly horrified. He began to slowly back away, but didn't lower his wand.

"That's right," Malfoy said mockingly. He readjusted his grip on Harry's arm, and moved the wand so that it was pointed at his leg. "Move a little faster."

Harry was gasping and shaking from the cold rain, and stared hard at Lupin, begging him with his eyes not to leave him alone with this madman. When Lupin didn't comply to Malfoy's orders, Malfoy smirked again and muttered, "_Diffindo!"_

A deep slash ripped through the muscle in Harry's left leg. He let out a great yelp of pain as blood splashed into the street and mingled with the rainwater. Harry doubled over in agony, held up by the portion of his shirt that was still clenched in Malfoy's fist, unable to draw a breath-

Suddenly, a number of things happened in a very quick succession. Lupin shouted a stunning spell at Malfoy, which flew over his shoulder and missed. A terrifying bark sounded from the trees directly behind Malfoy, and a blurry black shape came hurtling out, launching itself at Lucius. The black dog fastened its jaws firmly around the arm holding onto Harry, and shook.  
Harry forced the pain out of his mind as survival instinct took over; he could now use both of his hands to try and free himself. He kicked and scratched at Malfoy as violently as he could, but to no avail- Malfoy clung on just as tightly as he had before, all the while screaming at the vicious canine.

Their struggling became more hectic as Lucius began throwing out curses. Harry forced the offending wand away from his body just in time; the green light which came spilling from its contents headed straight for Lupin.

"LOOK OUT!" Harry shouted at Lupin, who spun in time to avoid the deadly curse. He appeared to be waiting for an opportunity to throw another stunner at Malfoy, but the jumbled threesome was moving much too quickly for him to get a clear shot. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Lupin spin and aim his wand down the street, and out of its tip burst the large silver silhouette of an animal. It charged away, in the general direction of Wisteria Walk.

Harry finally managed to wrench himself free of Malfoy's grip, but then the enormous dog bowled into his bleeding leg, and he roared with pain again. The mutt still had a firm grasp on Malfoy's torn arm, and was now dragging him around in circles. The sight would have been funny if the situation weren't so grave.

A bright purple curse blossomed out of the Lucius's wand next, but this time it was targeted at Lupin. Harry tried to yell out a warning, but it was too late. The curse made contact with Lupin's back and sent him to his knees, wheezing feebly.

When Malfoy's wand came around towards Harry again, Harry grabbed onto it and pried it from his fingers before Malfoy could shout out something else, and hurled it away as far as he could. Malfoy screeched in fury as the dog pushed him further away from Harry.

Suddenly the dog was gone, and a series of popping noises overtook the street. Harry looked around him, bewildered, but someone had taken hold of his arm yet again and was hauling him into the trees. When Harry saw who it was, he let out a shout.

"Just keep running!" The unfamiliar man barked at him. But Harry couldn't run. He could barely put any weight on his injured leg, and it was slowing them down. Behind him he heard Malfoy searching for his wand, and screeching orders to some other men, most likely his newly arrived comrades.

The strange man quickly scooped Harry up into his arms, ignoring Harry's feeble protests, and galloped onward. They dodged jets of green light and trampled through many unfamiliar backyards until they got to a field with lots of long grass and large prickly bushes scattered around in clumps. They appeared to have temporarily lost their pursuers, so the man unceremoniously dumped Harry on the ground.

"Hide!" he whispered urgently through the rain. The man crouched down, and together they both crawled through the thick mud and into the bushes. The branches scratched Harry's face and imbedded themselves in his hair, but he ignored them. When they got to the middle, they both lay as still as they could.

"We'll wait here until we're sure they're gone," the strange man breathed, panting hard. He had long, matted black hair that fell past his shoulders, and deep, haunted looking grey eyes. His chest was heaving from the stress of running. "Try not to make any sounds."

"Who's 'they'?" Harry asked, staring at the man. He felt a prickle of fear travel up his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Death Eaters," the man breathed, so softly that Harry barely caught what he said.

"What are Death-" but he didn't finish, for the loud CRACK of Apparation sounded through the downpour, and a black mass suddenly appeared in the field. Heavy black robes billowed around the figure as it began walking towards their hiding place with a steady stride. Had it noticed their footprints? Harry could have sworn it looked directly at him, and shuddered. The figure fingered its wand.

"Wait here and don't make any noise. I'll be right back," the black haired man whispered again. He turned back into a dog and crept out from under the brush. Harry wanted to call him back, and beg him not to leave him alone, but instead held his breath.

The man dressed in black, the Death Eater, had walked out of his line of vision. Harry was overcome by a sudden feeling of helplessness. Where had the man gone? Why wasn't the dog coming back? He could have sworn the bushes were beginning to close in on him, and Harry subconsciously shook himself- now was not the time to have a panic attack. Harry lay with baited breath, his ears pricked for the slightest of sounds, fearfully waiting for something to happen.

"CRUCIO!" a voice screamed from behind the bush. Harry's heart leaped into his throat, but before he could yell in surprise, his body was overtaken by pain.

It was a very quick curse, but to Harry it could have lasted for centuries. Thousands of white hot knives were digging into his bare flesh, ripping his limbs apart one by one…. His body must certainly be burning to ashes, as he unconsciously writhed on the sopping grass…. He realized from a great distance that he was screaming….

It stopped abruptly. Harry lay weak and panting on the ground, with the branches of the bush digging painfully into his back. Strange snarling noises were coming from behind him, and it sounded as though two animals were rolling around in the grass, fighting. It could have been a mile away, for all Harry knew in his current position.

He concentrated on a dripping leaf hanging in front of his nose. His eyes couldn't seem to focus. After a few minutes, the snarling stopped.

"Harry?" a concerned voice broke through the ringing in his ears. "Are you alright?"

Harry couldn't answer; he felt so exhausted…. He gave a soft groan.

"Harry?!"

The voice was becoming more panicked now. It was making Harry panic again, too. He tried to twist his body so that he was lying on his back, but soon discovered it to be a very bad idea as pain laced up his limbs again.

"Stupid- bushes-" the leaves were being pushed back, and the man with black hair returned into Harry's line of sight. "I'm going to help you sit up, okay?" Harry just moaned in response, fatigue overtaking his mind and body.

The man placed his hands under Harry's shoulders, and gently lifted them above the ground. Harry let out a sharp hiss of pain. Which curse had that been, anyway?

"Stay with me, Harry." _Stay with you? I'm not going anywhere..._

His body was slowly pulled into a sitting position, and out from under the shrubs. His head was beginning to clear, and he tried to focus on the strange man's face. He could have sworn he was seeing double.

"W- who-" His body was racked with coughs.

"Easy, there. Take deep breaths. That's it." The man's voice was soothing, comforting…. Harry began to close his eyes.

"No, Harry! You can't sleep. Stay with me!" His voice was urgent now. "I really hate to do this to you, but we've got to move. I have to get you someplace safe."

Safe? Wait- were there more of those men? Harry sat in uneasy silence as everything slowly came trickling back to him.

"Where…." Harry croaked, and licked his lips. They were covered in blood from where he'd bitten through his already split lip. He watched as the dog-man ran a hand agitatedly through his tangled hair, lost in desperate thoughts. Who was he, anyways? He had just saved Harry's life, and he also seemed to know Harry personally. Harry cast his mind around, but he couldn't seem to come up with any memories of meeting him before. _Just like Lupin,_ he thought. _Wait_- Lupin!

"L-Lupin... he was h-hurt...," His voice was broken by tremors, but he succeeded in gaining the man's attention.

"He'll be fine," the man stated matter-of-factly, but Harry thought he could detect an ounce of concern in his voice. "That wasn't a severe curse, and the Aurors will patch him up in no time." Harry was about to ask what Aurors were, but the man continued before he had the chance.

"I know where we can go, but we'll have to Apparate. That is, if this wand will hold up." The man grinned devilishly and held up Lucius's broken wand, of which the tip was dangling by the strand of a single unicorn tail hair. Harry looked up at him, startled (which was another painful mistake). Apparate?

"B- but- I don't know h-"

"I'll side- along apparate you. Do you think you can stand?" The man leaned over Harry's body, checking for further leg injuries. There was too much mud.

Harry nodded and, trying to ignore the agony in his leg and the tremors that continued to attack his body, reached out a hand for help. The man grabbed it and gently pulled him to his feet. Harry swayed dangerously, feeling nauseous, but the man quickly snaked an arm around his waist.

"You're going to want to hold on tight. Ready?" Harry nodded weakly. Larger raindrops pattered over his face and he tightened his grip on the man's wrist.

Suddenly, the man spun and jerked away from Harry, and he almost lost his hold. They were plunged into thick, compressing darkness, and were being squeezed on all sides; Harry's eyes and nose were being pressed into his skull, and he couldn't breath- he was going to suffocate-

They landed hard, on the top of some concrete steps, and Harry's legs gave way. The man pulled him back up, and half carried him up the steps to the door at the top. He quickly scanned the street before bypassing the snake-shaped brass door knocker and turning the knob to reveal the thick, impending darkness inside.

Harry was heaved over the threshold and the door shut behind them with a snap, completely blocking out the light from the streetlamps. It was eerily silent inside and smelled… old. Harry assumed it was an old manor. He could somehow tell that it hadn't been lived in for quite a while.

"This way," the man whispered, and helped him limp down a hallway to the right. The man's hushed voice was unnerving.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and from the chandelier. After a closer look at one of the walls, Harry could see that the wallpaper was decorated with snakes. Ahead of them was a flight of stairs twisting down under the floor, into what looked like a basement. As the man turned onto those stairs, Harry resisted. With his heart thumping madly in his lungs, he struggled out of the man's grip and fell backwards into the wallpaper snakes, which hissed menacingly at him. He clutched at the wall to stay upright as the man turned and looked at him in confusion.

"I'm- I'm not-" Harry croaked, his quivering fingers causing the cobwebs to vibrate.

The man raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Where are we?" Harry demanded. He somehow managed to put some force behind his words. He wasn't sure if he could completely trust this man yet. Besides, what were they doing in a house that appeared to belong to the darkest of wizards? And Harry didn't even have his wand on him! He shuddered.

"This is my family's house," the man sighed. "I promise I won't hurt you. I would never do that."

Harry stared at him, and the man stared back. Finally he spread his hands.

"Look- I don't even have a wand… one that isn't broken, at least. We're just going into the kitchen so I can clean you up."

Harry gazed at the man again, wishing more than anything that his instincts would tell him what to do now, but all he found was confusion and that remaining strong sense of helplessness. Slowly, he nodded. The man wrapped an arm around his tense body again and supported most of his weight as they trudged down through the floor.

The kitchen was almost pitch black, but Harry could make out that it was also extremely dirty, with a scraggly wooden table in the center that had to have at least two inches of dust on it. But the room had a friendlier feel to it than the rest of the house, despite the musty air and the overwhelming smell of mildew. For one, the room was completely bare of snakes, of which Harry was immensely grateful.

The man pulled out a dusty chair and Harry gratefully sat down, relieved at finally being able to rest his leg. The man then walked around the room lighting candles with a box of matches he'd pulled out from one of the cabinets.

"W- who are you?" Harry demanded as soon as the man's back was turned.

The man paused, obviously disarmed at the unexpected question. He hesitated before he spoke, turning slowly to face Harry, the matches in his fingertips forgotten.

"My name is Sirius." Harry sank deeper into the chair, intimidated by the dark look upon Sirius's face. "I thought you already knew who I was."

Harry was baffled. How should he know who this man was? He shook his head.

"You're an animagus." Harry said, and immediately felt stupid for stating the obvious, but Sirius merely nodded in response and returned to lighting the candles. His face held no emotion at all now.

"Why was Lupin so afraid of you?" Harry asked cautiously, trying to gage Sirius's reaction and wondering whether he should just shut up now before he angered the man.

Sirius turned back to the cabinets, deposited the matches, and pulled out a filthy rag.

"I knew him when I was younger. I think he thought that I would hurt you. Which I won't," he added as Harry paled. He walked to the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water run over the rag. He grimaced after turning off the tap. "I think this is the cleanest it'll get." Sirius strode back over to Harry and sighed, biting his lip. "Where does it hurt?"

Harry tried to ignore how nervous he became as Sirius approached, even as small beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He paused for a moment to think. _It hurts everywhere._ "Erm…. I think my leg hurts the most."

Sirius bent down and gently pulled up Harry's left pant leg. He sucked in his breath at the sight of the mutilated skin. Blood was still dripping from the large gash, which was now completely covered in mud. A number of smaller scratches from the bushes littered the pale skin, many of which were also leaking trails of crimson.

"You sure know how to get yourself beat up," Sirius muttered.

Harry pulled back as if stung. His breathing was becoming labored as he tried to block out the vivid flashbacks dancing in front of his eyes.

"Harry?" Sirius looked shocked and deeply concerned. "Are you okay? What did I do?"

Harry's gaze settled on the lumpy surface of the wooden table as he caught his breath. Swallowing, he shook his head. "Nothing."

"That wasn't nothing."

"Yes it was. I'm fine."

"You are anything but fine! Look at you! You're torn to pieces!" Sirius gently grabbed Harry's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Please tell me the truth. What happened to you?"

Harry stared at him with wide eyes, resisting the all consuming urge to pull out of his tight grip and cower in the corner of the room. Instead he replied, "You saw what happened. Some Death Eater cursed me, and Malfoy almost ripped my leg off-"

"I meant before that."

Harry froze. How could he possibly guess? Did he already know?

"W-what-?"

"Why is your cheek swollen like that?" Sirius asked, glancing at the bruise in question.

"I- well- I tripped and hit my face on-"

"Is that the truth, Harry?" Sirius's grip on his shoulders was now painful. _He knows_.

Harry struggled uselessly in Sirius's grip, his heart drumming madly against his frozen lungs. "What's it to you?" he exclaimed in desperation. "I don't even know you!"

It was Sirius's turn to recoil. He took a moment to recollect himself before his eyes narrowed. "What did he do to you?" he growled, sounding very much like the bear-like dog he'd once been.

"HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" Harry was out of his seat before he even registered that he was yelling. His chair had fallen over, and he was balancing on his good leg. Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Harry beat him to it.

"I don't know why you care so much, and as creepy as it is, I appreciate it. But I would also appreciate it if you could take me back to Privet Drive. Please," he added, as an afterthought. His leg began to shake violently, so he grabbed onto the table for balance. Sirius's eyes softened.

"Let's clean you up and get you to bed. I believe it's quite late." He bent down and stood the chair back up, and Harry hesitantly settled onto it.

A/N: Please drop me a review whether you like it or hate it! I love all feedback. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor any of the other characters that appear in this story!

Chapter 3

Remus stared down at the unconscious body of Macnair with great distaste and extreme worry. He had seen the bite marks on the man's arm, and the bloody claw marks gorged into his face. It was obvious who had done that. What was less than obvious to him was the reason _why_ they were there, if Black was supposed to have helped the Death Eaters capture Harry. Unless… perhaps Black desperately wanted all the glory of kidnapping his own godson for himself?

Remus shook his head in disgust and turned towards the clump of bushes next to Macnair's body, where a number of fresh footprints and paw prints were etched into the sticky mud. As the rain slowed, Remus cast around in search of the one sign of proof- yes, there it was.

It was one of the large footprints, which appeared to have been twisted into the mud almost as if the man had been twirling. And there, right beside it, was a smaller pair.

"Harry," Remus whispered devastatingly. "Where are you?"

Distant shouts from the Aurors reached Remus's ears as he turned away from the awful evidence.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Harry sucked in his breath and squeezed his watering eyes shut, as if his actions could block out the intense stinging if he couldn't see anything.

"Hang in there, kiddo," Sirius said through gritted teeth, as he gingerly wiped the blood from Harry's left leg. The grotesque look of the flap of skin dangling off Harry's calf made Sirius want to puke. "Bloody hell! How deep is this?"

"It would be nice if you wouldn't narrate everything that's going on," Harry ground out, but squinted an eye open nevertheless.

Sirius grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."

The rag was completely red by now, and they hadn't even started on the other cuts. _At least they've stopped bleeding,_ Harry thought. So far, he hadn't been brave enough to take a peek at the wound Malfoy had inflicted upon him. By the sound of it, he'd probably pass out if he did.

"There!" Sirius exclaimed in triumph. He held up the blood- soaked rag, which dripped onto the filthy floor. "I'll just rinse this off and then we can start on the others."

"Brilliant," Harry muttered, lowering his eyes. He leaned his head against the table as Sirius walked back to the sink. Although Harry barely knew the man, his instincts now told him that Sirius could be trusted. It was almost as if he had known Sirius a long time ago, in another world….

Harry's scar flared angrily, and he slapped his palm against his forehead. A quick glance at the sink told him that Sirius hadn't noticed, as he had busied himself with washing out the rag. As water spurted out and gurgled through the pipes, Harry rubbed at his tingling scar and closed his eyes, sickened.

"Are you still with me, Harry?" Sirius called. Harry nodded, keeping his eyes closed this time. He heard Sirius walk up to him, and felt a hand on his chin. He opened his watering eyes to see Sirius peering at his split lip.

"Ouch," he said. "How did that happen?"

Harry blinked wearily, forcing his mind away from his scar. "Bit through it," he mumbled. At least it was partially true.  
Sirius wiped at it gingerly, careful not to reopen the cut. He then gently dabbed the wet rag against his chaffed knees and palms while scanning the rest of Harry's body, which was uninjured except for a few scratches and the swollen lump on Harry's cheek.

"Is there anything else I've missed?" he asked quietly, waiting for some type of reaction from the younger boy.

"Er…." _Yes. There is a lot you've missed that you are not going to clean._

"Is that a yes or a no?" Sirius inquired softly, but his eyes were flashing.

"No," Harry managed. He faked a yawn.

"Alright, let's get you into bed and then I'll get you some bandages. Come here." Sirius stood up again and held out his hand. Harry gratefully accepted it, and he was pulled into a standing position. He tried to hide his grimace of pain from the bruises all over his chest, both new and old. Sirius must not have seen it, because he didn't say anything as he helped Harry walk back to the base of the stairs. When they reached the first step, they hesitated.

"Er… maybe I should carry you again," Sirius suggested. Harry was too tired to protest this time, so he swallowed his pride and allowed himself to be hoisted into Sirius's arms.

"Merlin…How much do you normally eat?" Sirius muttered distractedly. Harry could feel his face burning.

"Er… I don't have much of an appetite," he invented quickly, as they traveled up through the ground floor. Harry couldn't see Sirius's face, but he had a feeling that the man's eyebrows had disappeared underneath his hairline yet again. He refrained from commenting, however.

As they walked through the entrance hall and up the next flight of stairs, Sirius muttered to himself, "I wonder if my mum's portrait is still here…."

"What?" Harry inquired, glancing around at the walls for any picture frames. He could see a few small ones lining the hall, but couldn't make out their occupants.

"Before I ran away from home when I was sixteen, my mum had this great ugly painting done of herself to hang in the entrance hall," Sirius explained as they trooped up the next set of steps. "It's pretty obvious why she did it, if you consider the fact that this house perfectly reflects my parents' personalities… full of themselves and their pureblood mania-" he spat the last part grumpily, lost in his own world for a few seconds. "Anyways, I only came back here once after she died, and the moment I stepped into the house her portrait began screaming bloody murder. Apparently, my dear old mum wasn't too happy with the fact that I'd inherited the house instead of my younger brother." Sirius frowned in deep disgust. "She considered me a blood traitor, or something along those lines…." He paused on the third landing and readjusted his grip on Harry's torso.

"I can walk from here," Harry offered quickly, to cover up the awkward silence that had descended upon them. He noticed how Sirius himself wasn't looking very healthy at the moment, and wondered what had happened to the man to make him so thin and dirty and…. _Skeletal_.

To Harry's surprise, Sirius grinned and replied with a simple, "Nope", regardless of the depressing turn of conversation a few seconds previous.

They were silent for the remainder of the trip. Harry counted two more flights of stairs as Sirius continued upward. Eerie paintings of wizards with dark hair and sharp eyes that followed their slow progress now adorned the walls. The paintings never uttered a single word as they passed, although Harry could have sworn he heard faint whispering coming from behind the canvases.

Sirius was definitely out of shape, because he was wheezing heavily when he next put Harry down. They were in a long, dark hallway that branched out in a fork at the end, with three doors protruding from the depths of the shadows and cobwebs.  
"The one furthest down is the bathroom," Sirius said, pointing at the door, "and that one across the hall is my room. This is yours," he added, tapping the wooden door frame with his finger.

Harry looked closer at the nameplate that rested just above his eye level, and could barely make out the first three letters; however, it looked to him as if it spelled out the beginning of Sirius's name. He was about to inquire the reason of which Sirius was giving up his own bedroom for a kid he didn't even know, when Sirius grabbed the snake door handle and swung it open.

The door creaked on its hinges and a belch of dust swirled into their faces. Sirius cursed under his breath in between coughs. Impatiently fanning the dust aside with his hand, he strode into the room to turn on a lamp.

"This room's got muggle electrical power. I installed it when I was fourteen to bother my mum." Sirius flicked the switch at the base of the lamp, and the bulb flared to life. "Cool, huh?"

Harry simply nodded. He'd grown up in the muggle world, so he didn't find the non- magic forms of power quite as interesting as normal wizards did. He grasped onto the door frame and looked around his temporary room with interest; old photos were stuck to the wall behind the bed's wrought iron headboard, and a faded Gryffindor scarf was draped across the opposite wall, pinned up with ordinary muggle thumb tacks. Harry watched as Sirius dusted off the empty mattress and pulled some thin blankets out of the closet.

"This'll have to do…." He said reluctantly. "If only I had my wand…." He began piling pillows against the headboard after he shook out the blankets, in an attempt to make the dingy room as comfortable as possible.

"How come you don't have your wand with you?" Harry asked curiously.

Sirius jerked his head sharply and hit it on the bed frame with a loud clunk. "I- er- well, you see-"

CRASH!

Both of them froze. The noise had come from downstairs.

"What was t-?" Harry began to ask, but he was cut off by a sudden blood curling scream of fury, which may very well have been resonating from the floorboards themselves. Harry jumped back in shock onto Sirius's toes, as the scream grew louder and louder, echoing up through the shadowy hallways.

"That's my mum's portrait!" Sirius exclaimed, trying to talk over the screams. "Something set her off…." His look of surprise immediately faded into a fearful one, and he quickly slid around Harry to peer down the hallway. There was nothing there.

Sirius stuck his hand out behind him and nudged Harry's shoulder. "Get in the room, Harry. Turn the light off." His voice was urgent again.

Harry limped as fast as he could over to the lamp and flicked the switch. They were instantly consumed into darkness.

They both stood completely still and silent for several seconds. The hard pounding in Harry's ears couldn't completely cover the shouting of Sirius's mum, and yet they waited with baited breath for something- anything- to happen. Abruptly, the screams were cut off as if a silencing charm were cast upon the painting, and Harry's heart leapt into his throat.

Harry and Sirius stared at each other through the darkness, frozen, for what seemed like an eternity; and then they heard the unmistakable sounds of someone tramping cautiously up the stairs.

"_Bloody hell!"_ Sirius hissed, his eyes wide. "Harry, get in the closet."

Harry quickly complied, trying to block out the pain in his leg and scar as he quietly scrambled over the bed, with Sirius hot on his heels. Harry yanked the door open and blindly darted towards the back. His hands tore through spider webs and bits of moldy clothing and he stumbled, fighting not to sneeze and give away their position. Sirius tugged the door shut behind them, pitching them into impenetrable blackness. There was a small _pop_ from beside him, and Harry understood that Sirius had transformed back into the bear-like black dog.

They stood in absolute silence; Harry even tried to slow his breathing, paranoid that the sound would carry through the door and out into the hall. He jumped when he felt a cold nose nudge his hand in reassurance, reminding him that he wasn't alone. Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he subconsciously reached through the darkness to scratch the dog behind its ears.

The footsteps finally reached their landing, muffled slightly by the several inches of dust on the carpeted floors. The noises paused outside the bedroom, as if someone was looking inside before moving on to the next room.

"Go check down there-" came the cold whisper of an unfamiliar voice, and it was so uncomfortably close to their hiding place that Harry leapt in surprise. Sirius immediately huddled closer to Harry's legs.

The response that came from a second individual was unintelligible, but the footsteps continued further down the hallway. Whoever these people were, it seemed as though they weren't doing a complete comb of the house- none of the furniture was overturned, no doors (besides those of the bedrooms and bathrooms) were pulled open, not even a muttered _Lumos_ was cast into each room. After five minutes of careless searching and coming up empty handed, the Death Eaters continued up to the next flight of stairs.

It was only when the voices and footsteps were completely out of their range of hearing that Sirius transformed with another_ pop._

"Are you okay?" he breathed, finding Harry's shoulder in the darkness and giving it a quick squeeze. Harry nodded, but then realized that Sirius couldn't see him.

"I'm fine," he assured him, making an effort to sound convincing.

Sirius was quiet for a few moments, presumably listening for any noises from up above. Hearing none, he turned to his young charge.

"We need to get out of here, and quickly."

It was startling, the prospect of making a run for it when there were at least two Death Eaters roaming the house, but Harry was used to acting rashly in the face of danger.

"Okay," he whispered. Adrenaline was now pumping through his veins like liquid fire. He let out the deep breath of air he had been holding without realizing it, and limped after Sirius to the front of the closet. The man eased the door open and poked his head out, checking to see if the coast was clear; the hallway outside was deserted. Then he turned, snaked an arm around Harry's thin waist, and aided him out into the shadowed hall and onto the stairwell.

They moved as fast as they could despite their exhaustion and injuries, driven by survival instinct. Sirius supported most of Harry's weight as they swept soundlessly down the stairs, save for a few creaks from loose planks of wood. Harry tripped once on the second floor landing but managed to catch himself on the railing just in time. He barely had enough time to regain his balance before Sirius was hauling him downwards again, as silent as the shadows themselves. Harry couldn't help but wonder, with his heart racing feverishly, how the Death Eaters had gotten into the house in the first place; the home of a bunch of pureblood wizards was bound to be deeply warded, wasn't it?

They touched down onto the ground floor at last, and scampered across the entrance hall towards the ancient oak front door. Halfway there, however, they were met with yet another obstacle: Harry's scar spontaneously burst open in pain.

Doubling over in complete agony, with both hands pressed against his skull, Harry fell away from Sirius's side and once again collapsed into the cobwebs and wallpaper snakes. His body folded as he pressed his forehead against his buckling knees. He had _never_ felt this much pain from his scar before! Try as he might, he could not suppress the soft moan from escaping his lips, and resorted to biting the inside of his cheeks in a pitiful attempt to relieve some of his pain.

Dark spots danced in front of his eyes and threatened to completely cover his vision for the second time that night. The pain was peaking, and it was all Harry could do to withhold his scream of agony. He barely registered that warm arms had encased him in a strong embrace, with his face pressed deeply into the front of a filthy black robe.

Gradually, the pain began to melt away until it was nothing more than a soft tingling. Harry reached up to rub his forehead once, panting as if he'd just run a marathon. He raised his head and immediately met the frightened grey eyes of Sirius Black.

"Harry," gasped Sirius, looking far more frightened than Harry had ever seen him so far tonight, "what the _hell_ was that?" The man's voice trembled, and he continued to hold onto the boy tightly, as if he was afraid Harry would evaporate if he let go.

Harry struggled slightly in his embrace, confused about Sirius's antics. Weren't they currently supposed to be running for their lives?

"Sirius, let go!" he moaned, tugging at the man's robes in desperation. This seemed to awaken Sirius from whatever stupor he'd been in, and he reluctantly dropped his arms, but didn't make a move towards the front door. He just stood, staring down at the thirteen year old wizard, alarm etched upon his face.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked weakly, concern leaking out of every pore on his body. It was as if he'd completely forgotten about the prowling Death Eaters behind them, as he continued to stare at the boy who had been writhing in pain less than five seconds ago.

"_Yes!"_ Harry insisted, seizing a handful of Sirius's robes and pulling him bodily towards the door, "Now let's _go!_" They stumbled across the entryway and Harry reached out his free hand, twisting the brass door knob. With a heave, they were expelled out onto the damp concrete steps and into the moist summer air, the magnified smells of damp soil and fresh green grass bombarding their senses.

Their relief didn't last long; for out of the dim grey-blue light of dawn emerged a half circle of twenty hooded and masked figures, wands drawn and pointed directly at the entrance to number 12 Grimmauld Place, and the two wizards standing in front of it.

**A/N: **Like my evil cliffhanger? Chapter 4 is made up of completely new, unread material because I came up with a brilliant idea and had to change half the rewritten story to fit it in. So now I will be rewriting a lot of the rewritten stuff too! haha, does that make sense? Anyways, it'll be way better than it was before and I'm sure you'll like it.

Please review!!!! (the more reviews I get, the more I write and therefore the sooner chapter 4 will be up!)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Harry tugged violently at the ropes binding him to the ancient headstone, but it was to no avail; the cords must have been magically reinforced so that he could barely move an inch without them digging deeper into his skin and restricting his movements. He tried to twist his head this way and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of where they had taken Sirius, but he could only see a few feet in front of him; it was raining again and his glasses were missing, so everything was fuzzy. He tried to make a noise, but it was hopeless- upon their arrival in the graveyard a length of black cloth had been forcefully stuffed into his mouth by a faceless death eater. The ropes had been double checked, and then he'd been left alone, soaked and shivering and waiting in silence for something to happen.

The events that had taken place since they'd been caught outside of number 12 Grimmauld Place were all a blur. Harry vaguely remembered Sirius punching Lucius Malfoy in the nose, but perhaps that was a figment of his imagination- he had been pretty out of sorts by that point.

_Harry's hand groped blindly behind him in search of the door handle. If he could just open it without the Death Eaters seeing-_

_His fingers touched cold metal and he twisted the knob… but it was locked. He returned his attention to the conversation that was going on between Lucius Malfoy and Sirius. Although Sirius had moved so that he was standing in front of Harry, blocking him from view, Harry could still listen to what was going on. _

"_Don't even think about it, Black," Malfoy was saying silkily, in response to Sirius's futile attempts to protect Harry. "You're outnumbered two to one. Give up the boy and we'll let you go, no harm done."_

_Sirius snarled menacingly in response and Harry was suddenly reminded of his hulking animagus form. "Over my dead body," he replied with a growl. Harry thought perhaps that hadn't been the smartest thing to say in present company, but he held his tongue._

"_I have no desire to kill you, Black," Malfoy replied, shifting his wand hand slightly for a better aim. "Just step away from your godson and nobody will get hurt."_

"_No," Sirius shot back, standing his ground, but then he heard a small intake of breath and glanced over his shoulder at Harry, who had moved out from behind him and was staring at Malfoy with wide eyes._

"_Godson?" he repeated loudly, his voice trembling slightly. _

_Malfoy let out a bark of a laugh. "You didn't know?" he sneered, and his eyes widened as he took in the genuine shock on Harry's face. He turned to his fellows and shouted, "Potter doesn't know!" The death eaters' ringing laughter echoed mockingly through the misty air. _

"_Your mutt of a godfather spent the last twelve years locked up in Azkaban," Lucius drawled, smirking at Harry's horror. "He was framed by one of his best friends for the betrayal of your parents and the murder of 12 mugg-"_

_Sirius snapped. With an almighty roar of fury, he leapt from the concrete steps and reared his arm back. Perhaps it was the shock of Sirius doing something so stupid, or maybe it was the fact that he moved so quickly it was over before anyone fully realized what had happened, but none of the death eaters raised their wands in time. Sirius's fist slammed into Malfoy's face and blood spurted everywhere as the man's nose was broken. Curses flew through the air, and then Harry's vision went black. _

After that, all Harry could remember was being dragged in a half conscious state through the damp grass of the graveyard before being slammed against a headstone. His godfather was nowhere to be seen, and Harry was working himself into a fit imagining the different scenarios of what might be happening to Sirius.

Harry had never felt so helpless in his life. He couldn't move, he couldn't make a sound, and he was all alone. Surprisingly, it was the fact that he was alone that unnerved him the most about his current predicament. He had expected the death eaters to torment him about his situation, at least push him around a bit… he had not expected them to abandon him in an eerie graveyard with the crows in the nearby yew tree as his only company….

_I've got to get myself out of here,_ Harry thought desperately, and resumed his weak struggles- but it was pointless. The ropes wouldn't yield, and he only succeeded in exhausting himself. The soft rain was bitterly cold and he was soaked through to the bone, trembling violently and feeling ill. _So much for it being summer…_ Harry thought gloomily. _Although I guess this is England after all… I hope. Where the hell am I, anyways? _

Where was he, indeed? The air was thinner here than it had been in Surrey or London, so Harry assumed the death eaters had Apparated them somewhere north. Not that that conclusion helped him very much.

Harry was unsure of how much time had gone by before he heard a noise apart from that of the early morning rain and the birds. He immediately stopped struggling and strained his eyes to see through the dim lighting, but everything was still blurry without his glasses. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and his body trembled with fear as he sat, waiting, straining his ears….

Something was sliding through the grass from behind the headstone he was tied to. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and a shiver shuddered its way through his entire body. He couldn't move his head to look, the ropes were too tight. He sat in cold terror before he sensed movement down by his feet, and bent his neck slightly to look. He emitted a loud yelp that was immediately strangled in the mass of black cloth blocking his mouth.

It was the largest snake Harry had ever seen in his life (besides the basilisk); it was even larger than the boa constrictor he'd set loose on his cousin while they were at the zoo when he was ten. And it was slowly circling the headstone Harry was tied to, flicking its pink tongue occasionally at his shoes and hissing softly.

Harry stood motionless, fear radiating off of his skin so strongly that he was positive the snake could taste it. Had the death eaters decided that he'd make a good breakfast for their pet? Harry's imagination was in turmoil, but the snake didn't seem to be doing any harm besides scaring him out of his wits. It slowly continued to circle, reminding him vaguely of a guard dog. Immediately Harry's thoughts flitted back to Sirius. _Please let him be okay,_ he silently begged as he continued to eye the snake wearily.

The presence of the serpent achieved one thing- Harry didn't want to move anymore in case it decided that it was hungry, so he hung limply in his bindings and allowed his mind to wander. He tried to guess what time it was based on the intensity of the light (he couldn't see the sun). However, this seemed to be completely pointless, as it was so dark and dreary there was almost no light at all. His shivering was increasing as time wore on, until several hours later he felt a rising nausea in the pit of his stomach. He prayed he wouldn't throw up; it would be unpleasant enough without the cloth in his mouth.

Harry guessed it was late afternoon when the rain slowed to a mere drizzle, and when his scar first began to burn. Soon after that he heard footsteps.

_About time,_ Harry thought sarcastically, but his heart had resumed its erratic beating. He tried to gather his feet underneath himself to support his body, but he was too cold. Everything felt shaky and unstable. All he could do was hang like a rag doll as the footsteps trudged closer, until suddenly there was a man standing in front of him, peering up into his face.

The man was short, and patches of hair were missing from his scalp. He was extremely pale and looked almost sickly, as though he had lost quite a bit of healthy weight over a short period of time. His breathing was slightly wheezy, and his hands shook as he approached Harry and began fumbling clumsily with the ropes near his right arm. Harry tensed, but couldn't do much more to try and avoid the man's fingers. With a jerk, the short man kicked out at the snake lingering beneath the headstone and it hissed angrily at him, before slithering away through the grass.

There was a flicker of movement over the man's shoulder, and Harry strained his eyes to see two other cloaked and masked figures hauling something large onto the empty patch of grass in front of the gravestone he was tied to. He narrowed his eyes at the gray object, and concluded that it looked like a large stone cauldron, large enough for a fully grown man to sit in. He was just wondering what they were planning to do with it when he caught a glint of light reflecting out of the corner of his eye.

When Harry realized what it was that the short man was holding, he let out a muffled exclamation and immediately began fighting his bindings once again. Clenched in the small man's hand was a dagger; a long, crooked, horrifyingly dirty dagger, and it was positioned a few inches away from Harry's right arm. Harry tried to kick the man with his legs, but they were tied down too; all he could do was whimper slightly as the knife pierced the skin on his forearm. He could feel blood trickling down his fingers and knew it was dripping sickeningly into the wet grass below. The wound stung badly as the man held a small glass vial against his arm to collect the blood in. Then he stepped away, leaving Harry alone to blink the bright white spots from his vision with difficulty.

The death eater returned to his fellows, who were now hovering over the giant cauldron and tapping the edges with their wands, murmuring words that might have been in Latin. Before long, there was liquid bubbling away within its stone contents, spitting up against the sides and splashing slightly over the edges. Harry thought there might be sparks flying off the boiling surface as well, but it was hard to tell without his glasses.

Finished with the cauldron for the time being, the short death eater turned and jogged away through the graveyard, back the direction he had originally come from. Harry tried again to twist his head and could just barely make out the silhouette of what appeared to be an old abandoned manor at the top of the hill. _Their headquarters_, Harry realized with a jolt.

"_Potter!"_

A gruff voice startled him and his heart leapt into his throat. Harry looked back at the cauldron and was surprised to see the two remaining death eaters advancing on him, teeth bared and eyes narrowed menacingly. Harry withdrew slightly as they advanced to stand directly in front of him, blowing their putrid breath into his face and grinning. Harry's limbs trembled with fear.

"You!" One of the death eaters grabbed Harry's shoulders and shook him, hard. His head banged against the gravestone and he saw stars. "You're going to pay for what you did to the Dark Lord, Potter! There's no one around to save your sorry little arse this time! No filthy little mudblood mother of yours!" The man laughed sadistically, and kneed Harry in the stomach. Harry gasped in pain and would have doubled over had he not still been tied up. The hands on his shoulders were wrenched away by the second man and together they backed off, the first still spitting insults at Harry.

The air was suddenly filled with the sharp cracks of Apparition, and several cloaked and masked figures landed throughout the graveyard in a swirl of black robes. They moved to stand in a circle around the cauldron and Harry, leaving gaps as though they expected more people to arrive later to take their places. Harry nervously eyed the crowd and fought to slow his shaking and hide his misery. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

The cloaked figures quieted as one and they stood, eagerly listening to the approaching dusk and the silent rain. They were obviously waiting for something.

Suddenly, pain lanced through his forehead as Harry's scar burst open with renewed agony, and he whimpered pitifully. He lost all of the remaining strength in his legs and collapsed once again into his bindings. His head swam and his vision darkened for the third time that day, but he fought to hang on to consciousness. He knew that he couldn't black out now, not when something so obviously important was about to happen… something that undoubtedly concerned him. He forced himself to blink his watering eyes back open.

The short man that had taken his blood had returned, this time carrying a small bundle in his arms. It seemed to be moving. As Harry looked at it, his scar seared painfully and he instinctively knew what was inside the bundle.

He began twisting in the ropes again, trying to bend his head to chew them off in his desperation, but he couldn't. He shouted in pain and horror as the bundle was opened and the short man lifted a small, bony figure- a figure that looked like a child but had red eyes and scaly, black skin- out of the mass of bundled robes and dropped it into the cauldron. There was a splash and the surface of the liquid sputtered with more angry sparks.

_Please…_ Harry silently begged. _Please let it drown!_

Despite his internal pleading, Harry's scar continued to burn as though a red hot coal were pressed against it. He registered that there was something wet and sticky on his face, and realized that it was blood. His scar had burst open and thin crimson trails were leaking down between his eyes and over his chin. Blinking the blood out of his eyes, Harry had no choice but to listen as the wheezing man began to chant.

"_Bone of the father unknowingly given. You will renew your son!"_ Harry watched, horrified, as the ground beneath his feet cracked and a few trickles of dust rose from the grave below. It hovered in the air for a moment before floating over to the cauldron and sprinkling into the dancing brew. The surrounding death eaters jeered excitedly.

"_Flesh- of the servent- w-willingly g-given- you will revive your master."_ The man's voice shook as he retrieved the bloody dagger from the inside of his cloak with his left hand and raised his right arm above his head… and then hesitated. Harry noticed that the right hand was missing a finger. The death eaters howled in anticipation and stamped their feet, urging him on. Harry's eyes watered as his scar continued to burn more fiercely, and he narrowed his eyes at the scene, momentarily confused.

There was a flash of silver and a scream of pain, followed by deafening shouts of glee. Harry almost lost the measly contents of his stomach as the man fell to the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm and wailing. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could, but was forced to listen as the amputated hand was picked up off the wet grass and tossed carelessly into the cauldron with a loud splash. The potion emitted several sputters and there was a flash of fire upon its surface, before it faded back to its original color of blood red.

The sobbing man took a moment to collect himself the best he could, and with the help of two death eaters he was lifted to his feet. Trembling, he reached into his cloak again and pulled out the glass vial filled to the brim with Harry's blood.

"_B-blood… of the e-enemy… forcibly taken… you will… r-resurrect your f-foe."_ The man dripped the blood into the cauldron before collapsing back onto the grass, sobbing. Terrified, Harry stared, waiting for something to happen. So did everybody else.

There was a blinding flash of white light and the potion was suddenly sparkling, as though it was covered with thousands of white diamonds glittering in the sun. The death eaters shielded their eyes, but Harry could not bring himself to look away-

The light faded and disappeared. The cauldron was smoking slightly, and the potion was gone. There was an eerie silence in the graveyard as they all stared at the stone cauldron.

Something was moving within the basin. A hand of pearly white spidery fingers inched out and gripped the wall of stone, followed by the head and torso of a man- the pale, thin, cold body of a man. He stood, with his back to Harry, and hissed in a venomous voice,

"_Robe me."_

The thick black robe was draped over his bald head by the one-handed man, and the figure stepped out of the cauldron and onto the damp grass. He turned then, slowly, to stare at Harry- and Harry stared back into the red eyes and snakelike face of the monster who had brutally murdered Harry's parents twelve years ago.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for getting this up so late! I hope you enjoy it. Please leave me a review if you liked it. If you didn't like it, leave me a review anyways so that I know how to improve the next chapter. :)


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